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“How is it,” Stix asked, “that men always seem to claim victory over the triumphs earned by women?”
“You might lie to yourself,” she said at last, voice smooth as a scythe and twice as sharp. “But you cannot lie to me.”
They were merely wolves in a world of rabbits, who had forgotten that rabbits were important too.
From the day she had stabbed Aeduan in the heart, that heart had become hers—and she would not let this be his end.
Yet in that moment, as Iseult held fast to Aeduan, as she squinted against the brightness and willed his eyes to open, she saw red. Scarlet and true and spooling around them. Red that was not blood. Red Threads that led from her heart and ended inside of his. Impossible, she thought.
Te varuje. I trust you as if my soul were yours.
